Page 28 of The Home Grown
I adjust my head slightly to glare at Greg.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say. “So, you’re telling me it’s definitely real, then?”
Greg straightens up.
“Well, it’s still up for debate, but he’s worked in family law for years. He’s seen this sort of thing before. He said there’s typically a formal document or something—in addition to what you’ve provided me. Do you remember there being anything else?”
“Like what? I thought I gave you the—” I lower my voice to less than a whisper, mouthing the words‘wedding certificate’.
“No, what you’ve got is a partial marriage registration?—”
“Shh,” I hiss, checking the threshold to the stairs. “So, until we get the full version, we don’t really know? It could be a false alarm?” I ask.
“It could be,” he says. “But we need to get James on board officially.”
The word ‘officially’ has my stomach swimming. Because that means money … money I don’t really have.
“Right.”
“Just let me know how you want to proceed,” he says. “If this is legit, we can sort it without him—but financially, it’d be way easier if he cooperated. I’m not sure what kind of person he is but, he could rock up in the future and demand half of your house and whatever. I mean—the likelihood of it being a success would be low, but it’s still a thing. And a stress you don’t need.”
I blink at him, unsure what to think, let alone say.
My head reels with the possibilities, and I mentally kick myself for letting myself get into such a ridiculous circumstance.
All I know is, I cannot be married to Mike Betts.
First, he’s stolen my dream wedding—ripped away the perfect day I’d imagined since I was a kid. The fairytale. Fall in love, get engaged, have a story worth telling. All of it… ruined.
Second, he’s a dick.
“Okay,” I say, blinkingback the tears.
I put all my concentration back on the email, keeping my eyes away from Greg.
Greg and his perfect proposal.
“Maybehehas a copy of the original certificate? Did you get his number? I could call him on your behalf.”
I cast a look toward the wastepaper bin—now empty— before shaking my head.
Greg shrugs.
“Well, hopefully he’ll reach out soon.”
The staircase creaks—Kathryn’s footsteps killing the conversation like a guillotine blade.
BETTSY
I’ve hatedno one as much as I do right now.
Hate’s a strong word, but right now it’s running so deeply, my blood burns through my veins.
All I can see is Rick Langdon’s ugly face out of the corner of my eye through the glass dividing the home and away benches. He’s grimacing at me as if he’s ready to rip my head off—which only adds to my fury because if anyone’s doing any ripping, it’s me.
“Do you think I could take him?” I ask Hutch.
I move closer to him so I can gesture towards Langer without making a big deal of it. But Hutch likely knew who I was talking about anyway, since all I’ve done for the past year is plot revenge on a dirty hit Langdon forced upon me last season.
